


Killers In An Arena

by InnovativeSinner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Gore, Hannibal AU, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, Killer Will, Killing, M/M, Murder Husbands, Possessive Hannibal, Smut, this is for leemae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:01:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnovativeSinner/pseuds/InnovativeSinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this hannigram AU based loosely on The Hunger Games, Will Graham is a member of District 4 in Asmos, while Hannibal Lecter is a member of District 1. They meet together in training, and right away, Hannibal feels an attraction towards him, but Will doesn't trust him, finding him a threat due to the fact that he's bigger than Will. How will this turn out in the arena? Will love happen? Will they win?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chiiaroscuro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiiaroscuro/gifts).



> Hello! This fic is for Xenogenetic. I hope you all enjoy it - it's my first hannigram fic!

War. Death. Hunger. Fear. Those four words ruled the country of Asmos, and for a decade, that’s all that the citizens knew of. They knew of nothing besides those four catastrophic words; they ruled their lives. That is, until one man stood up and laid claim to this country, calling for, at first, a democracy. This man was Styr Torsson, and with a seemingly gentle hand, he helped build Asmos from the ruins up. Styr divided Asmos into 10 Districts: Luxury, Electricity, Lumber, Fishing, Weapons/Armor, Technology, Nuclear Weapons, Transportation, Livestock, and Grain. After 2 years of this working well, Styr came up with a new system in order to keep peace in Asmos - The Hunger Games. In each Game, four tributes, two of each sex, were chosen in a Reaping, aged 13-20, and they were then brought to the Capital. Once there, they were given three days to train, and after that, they are forced into an arena of random. The kicker? Only one tribute makes it out alive.

Originally, the people of the government denied the Games, telling Styr that is is an ‘insane slaughter fest’. Styr didn’t like that, and, as a method of getting his way, he turned the democracy into a dictatorship, and afterwards, he initiated the Games. The people of Asmos were reluctant to oblige at first, but once the Reaping came, they were forced to comply, for if they didn’t, then the Peacekeepers shot them in the head. One Game happened each year, but every ten years,a special one was held; the Decade Decider. It was chosen at random from a box of pre-written game ideas, and it was announced on live television, just as everything else involving the Games were. The Games were always broadcasted on live television for everyone to see, but the contestants weren’t completely alone - no, they had mentors that sponsored the Games, and sent small gifts to the contestants in order to help them throughout the Games. Whether it was soup, water, a weapon, or medicine, they were sent after a certain amount of money was raised. The contestants also had mentors; people that helped train and guide the contestants before the Games, who are past victors, heavily knowledged on what their tributes should do in the arena. 

**The Day Of.**

Will Graham lived in District 3, the Fishing District, and was a fairly happy man. Though he had no family by the time he reached 18, he kept happy by going out on the boats each day and catching as many fish as he possibly could, which earned him a fair amount of the wage the Capital gave the District each week. He was able to buy nice furniture and nice clothing at the market whenever he pleased, and had as much fish he could ever wish for, which kept him well-fed every night. He had participated in the Games for 5 years now, and this year marks the sixth. 

On the morning of the Reaping, Will let out a sigh as he rolled out of his bed, dreading the Reaping that would be happening later today. Even though he lived well, he had put in 6 extra slips of his name in order to gain 12 helpings of ‘exotic’ meat - venison, dog, and cow - so he could get the nutrients his body craved. He had a higher chance of being picked now, and that made his stomach churn uneasily. The curly-haired man, knowing he has an hour before he has to check in for the Reaping, pulls on a pair of fresh black jeans, a gray shirt, and a red and black plaid flannel before walking off to the kitchen, fingers pushing through his unkempt hair. Luckily, he had bought two eggs at the market, so that meant he could scramble them up with some cheese. A meal he only ate on the mornings of Reapings. Little did he know that this would be his last traditional breakfast; that his life would soon be changing. 

After scrambling and plating the eggs, Will sits at the kitchen table, silently eating forkfuls of the delightful eggs, lost in his train of thoughts.What would happen if he did, by chance, get picked for the Games? He wouldn’t be leaving anything behind, that’s for sure, but he would be risking his life. He probably wouldn’t make it out alive, even though he would try with all of his might to survive. Why fight if you have nothing to live for? The Graham name was left in his hands, and he had no female interests, no family, no anything to continue the name with. It didn’t help that he was gay; how could he continue the name if his only interest was in males? There was no logical way to procreate with that biological factor in play.

An hour later, right on the hour, a bell tolled out four times throughout the District, and that meant it was time for the tributes to fill the courtyard and wait for their name to (hopefully, not) be called. It was time to be drawn out like sheep and brought right to the slaughter, but which four people would get picked? Which four would the wolf decide to devour? The young male walks out of his home, not bothering to lock the door as he heads down the beaten path towards the courtyard. Alongside him were numerous amounts of children, ranging from 13 to 20, all trudging towards the forced slaughter, and all with grim expressions upon their faces. They surely had family members crying and praying, hoping that their darling angels didn’t get picked; Will would never feel that again. He hasn’t had anyone worry over him in two years, and would never have it again, as far as he’s concerned. Filing into the numerous amount of lines at the check-in area, Will glances around, taking in all of the many faces, breathing in slowly through his nose with pulled brows. Why was this the way the government kept them in line? Couldn’t they come up with a nicer solution, one that doesn’t involve people being pulled from their families and being killed-

“Next!” Will was brought out of his thoughts by the sharp voice of the Peacekeeper at the table, and with a clear of his throat, Will steps up, offering his finger out to the woman for her to prick her finger. The small device in her hand jabs his fingertip, taking a drop of blood, and after “William Graham” appears on the screen of the device, she waves him through. How kind of her. The young male walks to the right, where the males are located, and into the category of 19 year olds; there weren’t many, but enough for it to be uncomfortable for the empath. He felt the fear, the anger, the confusion, and it flooded him rapidly, making him sick to his stomach and his fists to clench up, sweat beading along his hairline.

After about 10 minutes, a woman named Messiana Kaja steps up to the microphone set up on the stadium; she was a tall, blonde woman, with blue lips, blue eyes, and blue lines tattooed elegantly down from her eyes to her neck, disappearing down the collar of her black and blue dress, which stopped at her knees. Her heels were tall stilettos, and stopped right below the hem of her dress. Leave it to someone from the Capital to look so elegant. The Capital was the richest area in all of Asmos; it’s where you went when you didn’t have to work for a living. Where you could live life luxuriously and not have to worry about anything important. All you worried about in the Capital is if your wig is straight, if your modifications look good, and if you blended in with the rest of the crazy looking people there.

“Welcome to the reaping of the Hunger Games, everyone!” She exclaims excitedly, and it is meant with cheers and applause from everyone - everyone except the ‘contestants’. They were deadly silent, waiting for their names to be called. 

“As always, we appreciate your wonderful sacrifice, contestants. Shall we see who our two wonderful females are?” With a smile on her lips, she walks to the box on her right to pick two female names, but Will tuned this out, focused instead on the Peacekeepers guarding the stage. Was that necessary? Who would run up and dare stop this ritual from happening? Anyone that tried to interfere would be shot on the spot, and that wasn’t worth it. It wouldn’t change anything. If anything, it would annoy Styrs-

“William Graham!” Messiana calls into the microphone, and at first, Will just stares forward, completely bewildered. Him? Really? He had a one in 450 chance of being called, and yet, he was called forward. Everyone had turned to face Will, and Peacekeepers were walking forward as if they were going to drag him, but before that could happen, Will walked out of his place and down the aisle in the middle of the sex separation, his limbs heavy with each step he took, breath bated in his throat as he walks up the stage, encouraged by Messiana with a smile upon her blue-painted lips. She looked like a the wolf from Red Riding Hood, sensing her prey, leading him in for the kill with a false hope of kindness. With trembling fingers, Will takes his place beside the first chosen male, who looked equally terrified, but at least Will didn’t have tears running down his cheeks. Will kept a firm look upon his facial features, standing strong, despite the overwhelming sense of fear residing inside of him, along with his sweaty palms and forehead. How was this possible? The odds weren’t in his favor today, and he was going to die. This is his death trip, Will knows that already. A hush had fallen over the crowd of spectators, since everyone knew and liked Will, but soon, a slow applause rose, but not one the other tributes had gotten. No, this is a sad applause, one that shows that they don’t want the young male to go to his death.

“Let’s hear it for the tributes of District 4!” Messiana calls out with a grin, motioning to the four people on stage next to her, but the slow clap continued; that was unusual for District 4. Will chokes back a sob from the amount of respect being shown through the community, but within a few seconds, he was led away and to a small room, where he would wait by himself for the train to be prepared for their day-long journey.

Will felt alone now. Truly alone. This room was meant for families to say their goodbyes, but Will sat on the velvet couch alone, lost in his thoughts. Was this his true death? No. Will was going to fight. This damned country may have taken his family from him, but he isn’t going down without a fight. The last living member of the Graham bloodline isn’t going down without a painfully long fight for survival.


	2. District 1

District 1 - Luxury items. Clothing, furniture, decorations, etc. were made in this District, and because they were the most appreciated from the Capital, everyone in District 1 lived a fairly good life. They were well taken care of, had nice houses, nice clothing, and didn’t complain as often as the other Districts did; never to the face of the Capital did anyone complain, but it was in human nature to complain about life, no matter how well you’re living. Although the citizens of 1 did complain, Hannibal Lecter was one of the rare few that didn’t. 

Hannibal Lecter grew up with a single sister, Mischa, and cherished her dearly. Since no one under 18 was required to work, Hannibal spent much of his time caring for his younger sister; making sure she did well in her classes, took extra rations in the Reapings so she wouldn’t get drawn, and took care of anyone that dare hurt her. Although music wasn’t a big part of their culture, Hannibal took interest in the music of the past - the music of the times before the war. He only found an interest in the classical side of it, but nonetheless, it interested him. At the age of 14, though, Hannibal’s life changed forever; a break-in happened, and Mischa was taken from him with force. The young Lecter walked in to Mischa being butchered on his countertop by an unknown perpetrator, and before he could act, he was knocked out and tied down to a chair. When he woke, there was a meal before him; his sister was laid out on the table, as if it were a feast. Hannibal was forced to eat her, and that psychologically damaged the young male. He stopped going to school, spent days mourning her.. He broke. That is, until he decided that his revenge would be to slowly pick off adult males, one by one, until he devoured the right one. This revenge scheme lead him to enjoying cannibalism, so that is what he became; a cannibal, with high standards and skills that made him able to kill unnoticably. 

**The Day Of**

Hannibal stood before the mirror as the bell rang out across the District, straightening his red velvet tie that was tucked beneath his vest, analyzing himself in the mirror as he does so. The Reaping was the one day that he had an excuse to dress himself in the way he craved to be, since his job required him to be in a blue-collared outfit daily. At 20, this was his last Reaping, and he was confident that he would be picked. In District 1, it was a high honor to be chosen for the Hunger Games, and with the way everyone feared the sophisticated man - he was all too polite and tricky with his words for them to be comfortable around him completely - he knew no one would volunteer to take his place as a tribute. Hannibal shrugs on his black blazer, buttoning the single button in the lower half, then takes a deep breath in through his nose before exiting his elegant home, locking the door behind him.

The streets were lined with many men and women as Hannibal slips unnoticably into the crowd, some crying and others smiling, all filing down towards the courtyard, where the Reaping ceremony would take place. It was a nice area, but the symbolism of it loomed over their heads; even though it was an honor to be chosen to represent your District in the Games and have a chance to prove how powerful District 1 truly is, it was also a great sacrifice. Since only one person made it out, there was always the threat of the other 48 tributes claiming victory in the Games, meaning that District 1 had merely lost four valued citizens.   
Hannibal maneuvers his way easily through the crowd, making his way to the line for the check-in table, where he patiently waits for the woman to call for him. The man before him was trembling, and it caused a smile to threaten to expose itself with a twitch of his lips; was he unprepared? He looked to be 13, so he must be unprepared. Poor little thing. He would be a delicious meal to dine on in the ruthless arena. Survival of the fitness, yes?

“Next!” The woman calls sharply, and Hannibal steps up, a smile now being allowed to grace his lips before the Peacekeeper. Always present yourself with a polite air, Hannibal. That was something he’d always taught himself, even before Mischa’s passing.

“Hannibal Lecter.” He states his name firmly, and the woman places the device above his outstretched index finger before pressing a button, which stabs the tip of it to collect a drop of blood. Once the machine verifies his identity, she waves him past the table, and he walks immediately to the designated section for 20 year old males; there were many, since living past 20 was a normality here. As expected, he was the nicest dressed man there; everyone else looked nice, of course, but none could compete with Hannibal’s elegant suit. Soon enough, a male stepped on the stage, a grin curved upon his blue painted lips. His hair was spiked and blue, his suit black with blue trimmings, and, to tie the look together, he had a blue watch adorning his wrist. How Capital-like of him.

“Welcome, District 1, to the annual Reaping of the Hunger Games!” Immediately, everyone - including the tributes - began to politely clap and cheer, obviously excited for this day. The only ones that did not join in were the 13 year olds, but that was to be expected. What 13 year old had a chance in these Games? They would get eaten alive, no doubt. Hannibal keeps his gaze upon the male on stage, listening intently as he speaks of the females before walking over to the box on the left with a “Ladies first!”, and watching as he sticks his hand in the box.

As always, two females were chosen, but they were young; 13 and 15. Snivelling meat walking to their death, that’s how Hannibal saw them. They would taste good in the arena.

“Now, it’s time for the gentleman.” The male announces into the microphone before walking over to the box on the right, sticking his hand right in. Hannibal raises a brow as he pauses at the name on the folded slip of paper, a pleased smile lifting at his lips. Yes, even the Capital knew of Hannibal Lecter; it wasn’t every day that a brother was forced to eat his sister, so when it happened, Hannibal had gotten a lot of attention from the Capital. Yes, everyone knew of him,and feared him.

“Hannibal Lecter.” The announcer says in a shaky tone, and right away, the other males clear a path so the poised man may make his way to the stage. Everyone clapped, as to be expected in this District, but the man ignored it, making his way to the stage in silence and stepping up to take his rightful place next to the male announcer, who gave him a nervous yet polite smile. Ah, it felt good to be feared. If anyone knew of his plans for survival in the arena, then the fear would be even more beautiful. There are two factors that can happen once the tributes realize what Hannibal is doing; either they will avoid and fear him, or they will go for him, eliminating their biggest threat. It will be interesting to see the way the humans scuttle about once they realize who he truly is, that’s for sure.

Once the second male is called, they are ushered to the Justice Hall, where they are each put in a room for their final goodbyes to their family. Hannibal stood in the room, gazing at a painting on the wall when the door opened, a Peacekeeper standing in the doorway,

“You have 5 minutes.” He states firmly, then steps out of the way while Hannibal gazes curiously at him. Who could possibly be coming to see him? He didn’t have many friends. He did have a romantic interest, but she wouldn’t be coming to see him. No, she would be seeing her sister, who had been called forth in the Reaping. A man steps into the room, tall and broody, and he shuts the door behind him while giving Hannibal a toothy smile, teeth glinting in the artificial light coming from the ceiling.  
“Hannibal Lecter.” He purrs this out, staying right by the door while the two men gaze at one another. “It’s been 6 years since I saw you. My, how you’ve grown.” The stranger chuckles as he says this, and Hannibal’s brows briefly pull together while gazing curiously at him. 6 years?

“I’m sorry, but I’m failing to remember you. When did we meet?” Hannibal asks this politely, pretty confident that the man has the date wrong. 6 years ago, he was a shut in, due to the fact that Mischa had been killed and forced to be inside of him in a grotesque meal.

“I suppose I kept myself well hidden if you have to ask…” The smile was shifting into a crooked smirk, the glint of a predator shining in his emerald green iris’. “I would tell you to ask Mischa who I am, but..” He trails off with a chuckle, and that’s when Hannibal realizes who the man is - it’s **_him._** The man who killed his sister. This causes Hannibal’s breath to hitch in the hollow of his throat, anger burning inside of him like a sudden wildfire, fists clenching by his side while his jaw sets, though he fails to say anything in return. This is the man that ate his sister. This is the man that he’s been after for 5 years now. He dared to have the nerve to expose himself now? Hannibal couldn’t hurt him, since a Peacekeeper was right outside the door, so he was forced to stand here, staring at the killer of his beloved sibling, unable to hurt or avenge her.

“You’ve been looking for me for so long, Hannibal, and yet, you failed to find me. Let’s get to know each other a little better, shall we? My name is Noi, and I’m a cannibal.” He steps up to the young male as he speaks, daring to reach out and brush his knuckles along Hannibal’s smooth-shaven cheek, but Hannibal flinches away, exhaling shakily as he does so. “Oh, Hannibal.. There’s no need to be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you. Want to know why?” Noi leans in now, lips hovering above his ear as he whispers lowly, “Because you’re going to die in that arena.”

“I’m not.” Hannibal finally manages to grit the two words out, tone wavering, but he quickly composes himself as he shakes his head, tone now coming out more confidently. “I’m not going to die. I’m going to come out on top, just so I can come home and eat you.” Noi laughs loudly at this, shaking his head while he steps away, taking his place back against the door so he can assess the younger male from afar.

“If you live, boy, I’ll come after you and eat you. The Lecter name will cease to exist. Either you die in that arena and have an honorable death, or you get killed and eaten by me. Pick wisely.” With that, Noi turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him, leaving Hannibal with that looming threat. The cannibal inhales shakily once he’s alone, sinking down to a sitting position on the velvet sofa so he can collect himself and gather his thoughts. Had he really just been confronted by Mischa’s murderer? This seemed all too dream-like, and if Hannibal knew any better, he would tell a Peacekeeper that Mischa’s murderer had a name, but he didn’t. He remained on the couch, breathing deeply, fingers fisting in the velvet fabric as he thinks over the threat. If Hannibal lived in the arena, he would know how to fight; Noi wouldn’t have a chance. Hannibal would be a killing machine. Therefor, Noi’s threat was invalid; he would die once Hannibal returned from the Games. His thoughts are interrupted when a Peacekeeper opens the door.

“Time to go.” He states firmly, and, with a smile, the cannibal stands up from the couch before walking out of the room and down the hall, right to the conjoined train station. There was a silver train waiting for them, the door to the closest car opened, and Hannibal steps on, the door immediately sliding shut behind him. The other Tributes would be joining him, he knew this, but they would each step on a different car, right into the sleeping car for them. It was elegant inside, pristine even, with a hanging chandelier and a door to his right, which lead to a bedroom that he would explore soon. For now, he would watch the other Reapings, and size up his opponents. 

This wasn’t a death trip for the cannibal. No, he didn’t think this, unlike the other Tributes. To Hannibal Lecter, this is an opportunity to grow, to learn how to become a lethal weapon so he can avenge Mischa. Noi would regret even thinking about killing Hannibal by the time he returned, Hannibal would make sure of this.


End file.
